Object x, p.4
Object X, page 4
Blood. Thick, rich, red blood. He dropped the saw from his hand, raising the bunny by its head as he watched the blood pour from its tiny frame. This was it. His sacrifice. His offering to something far greater than himself. Sam had finally accomplished his mission.
He stepped forward, pressed the severed bunny against Object X, and smeared its blood all over the smooth black surface.
Nothing.
He pushed forward to cause the blood to gush from the animal in his hand. He saw the blood on the surface with his own two eyes. It coated the object, appearing darker from the black backdrop, but clearly present.
Nothing.
Object X didn't so much as wobble. It remained stationary in spite of the rabbit blood daubed along all seven feet of the front, and nothing changed after he did the same to the back. The blood was useless. The dead animal in his hand had failed. He was back at square one, questioning what he looked at and why it was here.
Sam dropped the bunny from his grasp, gazed down upon the ghastly cut running the length of his palm, and pressed his hand against Object X once again.
It shook. Only slightly this time, reflecting the lack of blood leaking from his wound, but it still shook. Suddenly, everything made sense. He needed more blood. Not just any blood, though. He needed human blood.
Chapter Five
Tommy skipped through the open garage, straight up the two steps and onto the deck to find his father. “Hey, Dad!”
Sam returned his son's smile, seated in a lawn chair on the deck, far from Object X. “Hey, kiddo.”
The young boy's curious eyes quickly shifted to the white bandage wrapped around his father's left hand. “Did you hurt yourself?”
Sam pointed at the empty lawn chair next to him, encouraging his son to take a seat.
Tommy took a peak at the mysterious black figure toward the edge of their property, wiggled out of his backpack, and hopped up into the chair next to his dad.
Sam, surprisingly even to himself, decided to take a different approach over the past eight hours. He'd originally deepened the wound on his hand, disappointed to observe Object X react in identical fashion to its first experience with his blood. He didn't bother to try more animal blood either. He also wasn't sure where else to look after doing some research on the internet, because there wasn't any way to purchase blood legally according to his findings. The illegal route concerned him based on what could go wrong. Not for himself, of course, but for Object X. The authorities would discover the mysterious entity in his backyard if he were to find himself in trouble. Part of protecting Object X involved protecting himself, so he couldn't afford to take unnecessary risks despite the many alluring rewards.
And that's what Object X really was: an entity. Did he have any proof that it was alive? No. Did he need any? Absolutely not. He understood what he felt. It breathed. It suffered. It rejoiced. It was no different from any other living soul, just far more spectacular and significantly less easy to diagnose.
So, Sam opted for a different path. His tools had been cleaned and put away. Object X had been rinsed with water, erasing any sign of his many prior experiments. The backyard resembled any other normal day—minus the black door-like object hovering between the pine trees—all due to what he had planned next. He wasn't ready for extreme measures quite yet. This, as opposed to robbing a blood bank, needed to be crossed off his list first.
“Tell me something about Batman.”
Tommy's big blue eyes widened. The comic book character on his shirt was never far from his heart. “Batman is the best!”
“And what makes him the best?” Sam asked.
“He always does what's good,” Tommy declared proudly. The fictional superhero was second only to his father on his list of favorite men in the world. “And he fights bad guys to save people like you and me!”
“Like when he fights the Penguin?”
Tommy rolled his eyes dramatically.
“What about the Riddler?”
Once again, Tommy didn't appear impressed. “The Riddler stinks!”
“How about Two-Face?”
The six-year-old boy finally showed a hint of a smile.
If Sam knew one thing in life, it was his son's favorite comic book villain. “The Joker?”
Tommy was all smiles. “It's the best when Batman fights the Joker!”
Sam scooched his chair closer to his son. He lowered his voice to emphasize the importance of their private talk. “Let me tell you something about Batman. Batman is a hero, but not necessarily for the reasons that most people think.”
Tommy stared up at his father, wide-eyed and focused in a manner distant from most children his age. Few things had the ability to capture his attention like his dad.
“Batman never reveals his identity,” Sam told him. “He's a hero who doesn't want fame. He sacrifices his time, his money, and his energy to protect the citizens of Gotham, and he never wants anything in return. That's a rare quality. To be content without anyone knowing the good you've done.”
The young boy's gaze never ventured from his father.
“Do you think you could do that? Could you make a sacrifice without anyone ever knowing?”
Tommy's eyes met the deck momentarily. He thought for a moment, nodding his head after coming to his conclusion. “I could.”
“There are moments in history uncredited to the people who had the biggest impact in making them happen,” Sam said, finding his son's eyes once again after Tommy looked back up at him. “We don't know their names. We wouldn't recognize their faces. They're ordinary people in the minds of you and me, but they're not. They're extraordinary.”
Tommy was deep in thought, hypnotized by the most influential voice in his life.
“What if I told you that you could be Batman?”
Tommy eagerly awaited to learn how the impossible could become reality.
“There's something I need you to do, but you can never tell Mommy. In fact, if Mommy asks you what happened, you would have to lie to her.”
The brown-haired boy, who turned seven in less than a month, hesitated. “Lie to Mommy?”
“Batman lies,” Sam told his son. “He lies all the time. He lies to protect those he cares about and to keep his identity hidden. He lies because lying isn't always bad. Sometimes, lying is best for those we care for the most. You love Mommy, don't you?”
He immediately nodded.
“And you don't ever want to hurt her, right?”
Tommy shook his head empathically. “Never.”
“You could be Batman,” Sam went on, his voice cool and steady. “You could save the lives of so many people. You could be a superhero. Only I'll ever know your true identity, though. Not Grandma and Grandpa, not your friends at school, and not even Mommy. It'll be our little secret.”
The youngster still struggled to accept one part in particular of his father's proposal. “Why can't we tell Mommy, though?”
“Because Mommy wouldn't understand. She doesn't see things the way that we do. To her, the world is black and white, but we see it in color. She'll try to stop you. Not because she doesn't want you to be great, but because she doesn't understand our struggle. So, kiddo, let me ask you a question.”
Tommy glanced down at the front of his shirt, noted the large image of his favorite comic book character, and looked back at Sam.
Sam placed his hand on his son's shoulder, gazing deeply into his blue eyes. “Do you want to be Batman?”
Chapter Six
Sam wrapped Tommy's right hand with a bandage. Tears streamed down the young boy's face as he tried his hardest not to cry, but failed miserably. The knife had sliced through his young skin even easier than it had Sam's. His palm had yet to toughen. His skin had yet to callus. The six-year-old boy was so fresh to the world, quick to heal, but susceptible to the many dangers that accompanied youth.
Sam observed the knife in the bowl containing his son's blood. He quickly looked back at Tommy while they sat next to each other on his baseball-themed bedspread. “See, that wasn't so bad, was it?”
Tommy sniffled repeatedly, his eyes flooded with tears. “No, it-it-it was-wasn't ba-ba-bad.”
“I'm proud of you, kiddo,” Sam said. “Now, what are you going to tell Mommy when she sees your hand?”
Tommy took a deep breath in an attempt to gain his composure. The pain didn't allow him to recall his father's words any easier. “That I...um...fell in the garage.”
“And...?” Sam encouraged him to continue.
“And I cut it on the edge of your workbench.”
Sam checked to make sure that his son remembered every part of his plan. “And why is my hand cut?”
“You...um...cut your hand to show me that it doesn't hurt that bad.”
Sam nestled his son's brown hair with a proud smile. “Do you know what we're going to do the next time we go shopping? I'm going to take you to the toy section, and you can pick out anything you want.”
Suddenly, the first-grader didn't feel so bad. “Really?”
“Really,” Sam confirmed with a nod. “Let me tell you something else too. When Mommy comes home and sees your hand, she's going to cook you anything you want, get you anything you want, and let you stay up as late as you want. That doesn't sound so bad, does it?”
The idea of receiving even more of his mother's attention than usual brought the first hint of a smile to Tommy's face, his eyes and cheeks red from sobbing.
“And you know how you're usually only allowed to play video games on the weekends?”
Tommy nodded.
“Well, I'm going to let you play 'em right now. For being so brave,” Sam told him. “How's that sound?”
Pain was a thing of the past for the excited youngster. The white bandage wrapped around his hand was a small price to pay for unlimited video games and the chance to pick out any toy he wanted the next time he accompanied his parents to the store. The promise of his mother's smothering affection served as the cherry on top of the sundae for the little guy who was already on a beeline for his gaming console, and it didn't hurt matters for his dad to know that he was a superhero either.
“Stay in your room until Mommy comes home, okay?”
Tommy looked back at Sam, nodding with a bold smile.
Sam collected the bowl of blood off the floor, closed Tommy's bedroom door, and headed downstairs in a hurry. Time ticked until Wendy's arrival. She would be back from work soon, undoubtedly armed with a litany of questions about everything and anything. Primarily, her interest would center around the cut on Tommy's hand, but he had that little detail covered as long as his son held up his end of the bargain. He honestly didn't see how anything could go wrong.
But enough about his family.
Now, the real work began. He didn't have any proof—or any real reason to feel the way he did—but the blood in the very bowl that he carried outside seemed important. It wasn't because of Tommy either. Tommy was like Wendy, ordinary and forgettable, but he was young. He possessed adolescent energy. He'd watched Tommy cut himself in the past, only for his wound to noticeably start the healing process within hours. Meanwhile, a break in skin involving someone Sam's age remained cut for several days before any progress showed. There was an undeniable magic in youth.
And Sam needed to see if Object X felt the same way.
He hustled across the grass, barefoot and armed with a few ounces of six-year-old boy blood in his hands. He couldn't be bothered to return for his sneakers. Time. There was never enough of it. He spent his days in an office, staring at the clock on the wall that never seemed to move, but dreading the one at home that always appeared in a rush.
Time.
The hours of his life, gone and wasted.
Time.
A chance to get it all back.
He arrived in front of Object X. An outsider would label what he stared at as black and empty, but he gazed deeper into the puzzle which taunted him with deafening silence. The answers were right in front of him. There was a way inside, unknown to him at the moment, but painfully obvious once he finally broke the code. He just needed time.
He dipped his hand into the bowl. His son's blood coated the tips of his fingers, dripping off his rough skin and collecting in the shallow pool of fluids below. Organically, he shared so much with the boy whose blood he touched, but he knew they were different. He absorbed Tommy's youth. He gained his power. Innocence and gullibility evaded him, but the inimitable courage of a child who didn't know any better surged through his veins.
Sam pressed his hand against Object X.
It reacted to the blood on his skin. It shook with more intensity than it did from his own blood, but leagues from what he expected. What troubled him most was the lack of bond that he felt. There was no glimpse into the mysteries that Object X held. No insight into what path to take next. No helping hand to guide him along his way.
Sam removed his hand and placed his palm flat in the bowl. He pushed down, allowing the blood to spread and reach every crack and crevice of his skin. Time. Each little second, so easily taken for granted, but so valuable in the heat of the moment. Time. Those seconds turning into minutes if he fell into the trap laid out before him.
He removed his blood-covered palm from the bowl and slammed it against the unforgiving wall that was Object X.
It rattled violently.
He felt the sliver form down the center of the dark sea before his eyes verified his findings. Object X parted directly beyond his hand. Not much, but more than when he'd used his own blood earlier. Its intense movement chilled his bones, numbing his arm as he refused to look away from what changed everything. He was right: Tommy's blood did something to this thing that his own fluids couldn't.
The crack ran vertically from the top to the bottom of Object X, but only separated a fraction in width. He couldn't see inside. He didn't dare attempt to reach his finger into the darkness either. Truthfully, it wasn't wide enough for him to do so, but he wasn't sure if he would even if it suddenly expanded further. He was too valuable to the cause. Too much could go wrong if he dove headfirst into the unknown.
He withdrew his hand and looked down at the bowl of blood he held. Object X's energy faded. Its shaking dimmed with each passing second, causing him to anticipate the long crack sealing itself shut at any moment. Time. He needed more of it. He had to do something. Why couldn't he think? Why didn't he react?
He looked down at the bowl of blood in his hand again, took a deep breath, and propelled his arm forward.
The blood flew from the bowl and spattered against Object X.
Sam couldn't explain what kept Object X in place. It slammed from side to side, silent and completely detached from the beautiful nature all around. The grass didn't move. The pine trees didn't sway. Animals remained unseen, but he didn't know if he should credit their absence to fear of what unfolded or rather complete ignorance of his newest obsession. It was as if Object X performed solely for him.
Something appeared on Object X. Faint. Almost blurry. Yet, noticeable to his observant eyes. The white stood out just enough on the black surface in spite of its pale presentation. It wasn't much, but it was more than enough.
A single word—scribbled in what looked like white chalk—made itself visible on the very top-left corner of the object in front of him.
Time
He didn't know what to make of it. Time had become his latest fascination. It was what he thought about when not directly obsessed with the most recent addition to his backyard. The chance to go back and do things differently, the wish for more hours in the day to focus on the only thing that mattered anymore, and the fantasy to travel ahead to reap the rewards for time well spent: it all came back to time. He didn't understand the message, though. Why just time? Why not more details? Why not a message? Why not a true show of faith?
And then he saw it.
A white light glowed deep in the crack splitting the center of Object X. Life. Meaning. A sign of hope in a world of destitute. That light was his answer. It served as proof of something more than just a strange black object without purpose. Relief flooded his body now that he no longer needed to articulate what he felt. Instead, he could show himself if he needed a reminder, and the rest of the world would soon climb on board as a result of his visual evidence.
But not yet.
He needed more time alone with it. He planned to study it. Appreciate it. Love it. He needed to delve deeper into what he felt, not only for himself, but for Object X. How would the rest of society react to his discovery? Regular folks would take it for granted, the religious community would proclaim it as a gift from God, and the military would attempt to weaponize it. He refused to allow anything of the sort to happen, however.
Object X abruptly ceased shaking, the narrow crack down the middle sealed closed, and Tommy's blood faded from the surface along with the word time—not leaving even a stain behind. Once again, he stared at something that appeared to have never been touched, but he knew better. Deep inside what most would label an inanimate object, was a heartbeat. A heartbeat hidden beneath a blank face. A heartbeat misunderstood by everyone around him. A heartbeat which matched his own.
Chapter Seven
Wendy covered Tommy's bandaged-hand in kisses for the millionth time, tucking her little guy into bed as the time on her phone showed ten o'clock. It was a full two hours past his normal bedtime, but she didn't see any harm letting him stay up late to watch cartoons. It was the same reason that she made French toast for dinner earlier. Her favorite person in the world had been through hell today, so she did everything in her power to alleviate his mind from what no little boy should ever have to experience.
“My poor baby,” she said, kissing his fresh bandage before opting for one on his forehead. “Does your hand feel better?”
